Skip to main content

Running to Remember: The Bataan Memorial Death March Marathon


Some came to compete, pushing their limits with every step. Others came to honor and remember, their hearts heavy with the sacrifice of the Filipino and American soldiers who endured the brutal Bataan Death March—forced to march endless miles under an unforgiving sun.


I came to run.


At 6:30 AM, as the sun barely peeked over the horizon, the runners took off. It was the earliest start time I had ever experienced in a marathon. I began slowly, letting the faster runners surge ahead, creating space around me. The crisp morning air filled my lungs as my legs warmed up. Then, after the first mile, I found my rhythm. I picked up the pace, passing runners one by one, feeling stronger with each stride.


At mile eight, just as I was settling into cruise mode, the real challenge emerged—a relentless mountain ascent. Every step became a battle against the incline, the thinning air, and the burning in my legs. The terrain was unforgiving—rugged trails, steep climbs, sudden gusts of wind striking from every direction. Then came the infamous sandpit—a mile of pure resistance, where each step forward felt like sinking backward.


But I pressed on. This race wasn’t just about endurance; it was about honoring the resilience of those who came before us.


By mile 24, exhaustion clawed at me, but then, in the distance, I heard it—a faint cheer. The sound grew louder, lifting my spirit, pushing me forward. I gathered every ounce of strength I had left and surged toward the finish line, my body aching but my heart full.


The Bataan Memorial Death March isn’t just a race; it’s a test of willpower, a tribute to sacrifice, and a reminder that true endurance is not just physical but deeply rooted in the spirit. Crossing that finish line was more than completing a marathon—it was honoring history, carrying forward a legacy of courage, and proving that even in the face of pain, we persevere.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Our Journey to the San Diego Beach & Bay Half Marathon

Race Day: Embracing the Challenge, and Pushing Limits Today was the big one—the San Diego Beach & Bay Half Marathon. We stood at the starting line at 6:30 AM, under heavy skies and cooler air. No blazing sun today, just a thick layer of cloud cover—a welcome gift for runners like us. This wasn’t unfamiliar ground. We’ve run these paths over and over—Crown Point, De Anza Cove, Mission Bay, Pacific Beach. We knew every twist and turn. But that didn’t make it easier. Michelle almost didn’t start. Her back pain had lingered all week, stubborn and unpredictable. But she showed up, like always. Quietly determined. By mile 3, she was locked in. By mile 6, she was flying. But then came mile 10—the farthest we had ever trained for. That’s where things started to change. Breaths became heavier. Footsteps, slower. At mile 12, we hit the wall—hard. Every stride turned into a battle of will over body. And yet, somehow, we kept moving. Michelle crossed the finish at 2:28. I followed just a minut...
Post a Comment
Read more

We’ll Always Have Morocco

Day 6: Into the Heart of the Kasbahs — From Dunes to Dramatic Gorges We rose before dawn, the desert still wrapped in silence and stars. The air was crisp, the sky a canvas of deep indigo slowly giving way to shades of gold and rose. As we climbed back onto our camels, the only sounds were the soft crunch of sand beneath padded feet and the gentle whisper of wind over the dunes. At the crest of a ridge, we paused—and there it was:  sunrise over the Sahara . It wasn’t just beautiful; it was soul-stirring. The dunes blushed with morning light, shifting from bronze to fiery orange. Shadows danced. Time stood still. It felt as though the desert was breathing with us—alive with something ancient and eternal. We returned to camp for a traditional Berber breakfast: warm bread, honey, fresh dates, and mint tea that tasted like sunshine in a glass. After breakfast, we bid farewell to our camels, our hosts, and the magical slice of Morocco that had taken root in our hearts. Back in our 4x4s,...
Post a Comment
Read more

Long Weekend Escape to South Carolina

Before the sun had even begun to rise on Thursday morning, we packed our bags, loaded the car, and hit the road—determined to get ahead of the Washington Metropolitan Area’s notorious rush hour. An hour later, the city's chaos faded in our rearview mirror, replaced by the open road stretching ahead. With every passing mile, we left behind the relentless hustle and slipped into the promise of a slower, more scenic adventure in South Carolina.
Post a Comment
Read more